


A Bite of the Apple

by wingedspirit



Series: Winter 2019 Prompts [18]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 31 Days of Ineffables Advent Calendar Challenge (Good Omens), 31 Days of Ineffables Advent Calendar Challenge 2019 (Good Omens), Baking: there was an attempt, M/M, Unrepentant Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:34:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21852268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingedspirit/pseuds/wingedspirit
Summary: Aziraphale tries his hand at cookies.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Winter 2019 Prompts [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1560823
Comments: 5
Kudos: 97





	A Bite of the Apple

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [drawlight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/drawlight)’s [advent calendar prompt list](https://drawlight.tumblr.com/post/188869931294/aziraphale-crowley-for-half-an-hour-youve-been) (day 18, cookies).

Aziraphale pulls the baking sheet out of the oven, prods gingerly at the latest batch of ruined cookies, and sighs. He’d thought this would be easy; the recipe he was trying to follow certainly made it seem simple enough. And yet, every single batch he’s made so far has gone wrong in a different way, and he has no clue what mistakes he might’ve made, or how to fix them. And —

“Angel?”

— and of course he’s lost track of time, or maybe Crowley’s home early, he doesn’t know which it is, but their normally pristine kitchen is a complete disaster, and he can’t let Crowley see this. He scrambles to clean up with a miracle, but he’s too flustered to be quick, and Crowley’s already found him, is already standing in the doorway, eyebrows raised, studying the results of Aziraphale’s ineptitude.

And all Aziraphale can do is flush, and feel guilty. He’d wanted to do something nice for Crowley, and look where it got him. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, no, none of that.” Crowley picks his way through the kitchen, stepping over a puddle of what used to be jam and around a small pile of scattered flour and burnt cookie remnants. “What happened?”

“You’re always the one cooking for us,” Aziraphale says, quietly. “And I wanted to do something for you. I thought it might be nice to have freshly-baked cookies ready for you when you came home. I found a recipe that seemed easy, but —” he waves a hand at the state of the kitchen “— I was wrong, obviously.”

Crowley purses his lips. “D’you know,” he says, “the first time I tried baking anything, it was an unmitigated disaster. I was finding flour in weird places for _weeks_. It ended up in my ears, and up my nose. And I neglected to wear an apron, so the shirt and trousers I was wearing had so much — unidentifiable gunk, is the only way I can describe it — ground into them that not even a miracle could save them. Had to toss them.”

Aziraphale very much doubts that; Crowley is fastidious to a fault. Still, he has to smile at the mental image. “Surely it wasn’t _that_ bad.”

“It took me nine batches of cookies to get one that actually looked alright, and when I actually tasted one, I realised I’d been using salt instead of sugar all along.” Crowley looks around, with a crooked smile. “You’ve done — five, it looks like, and the salt container’s still in the cupboard where it belongs. Seems to me you’re doing just fine.”

“You’re too good to me.”

Crowley’s smile turns wry. “Says the angel to the demon.”

“You _are_ ,” Aziraphale insists. He reaches for Crowley, then stops himself. He is quite covered in flour and other baking ingredients, and Crowley, as usual, is wearing dark colours.

Crowley shakes his head, fondly, and leans forward, very carefully kissing the tip of Aziraphale’s nose. When he pulls back, there’s flour on his lips; he banishes it with a wave of his hand, along with the rest of the mess in the kitchen. “Shall we give the cookies another try, then? What recipe were you using?”

“Um.” As Crowley reaches for the sheet of paper bearing the recipe, Aziraphale flushes anew, remembering which one he’d picked, and why.

“Apple temptation cookies,” Crowley reads from the recipe sheet, eyebrows raised, grinning wickedly. “Really, angel?”

“They seemed tasty,” Aziraphale defends himself, feebly.

“They do, at that.” Crowley chuckles, sets down the recipe, and starts gathering the ingredients. “Come on. I’ll direct you.”

**Author's Note:**

> I made up the name for the recipe, but the cookies do exist — google "apple filled cookies" for a general idea. (Not that I’ve ever made them; I’ve just eaten them. Like Aziraphale, I, too, am a disaster baker.)
> 
> Come find me on [Tumblr](https://wingedspirit.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
